


Suffer for my Sins - Chapter 1

by fvckingavengers



Series: Suffer for my Sins [2]
Category: DCU, DCU (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Superman - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Angst, F/M, Mafia AU, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:00:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25576954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fvckingavengers/pseuds/fvckingavengers
Summary: You’re the adopted daughter of Tony Stark, one of the most powerful and infamous mobsters of the greater north eastern region. After his death, it was his wish that the reigns be handed over to you. There’s been a rivalry between your family, and that of Steve Rogers and Clark Kent. When the New York mafia is threatened, the three of you will have to put aside your differences and work together.
Relationships: Clark Kent & Reader, Clark Kent/Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes & Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader, Steve Rogers & Reader, Steve Rogers/Reader
Series: Suffer for my Sins [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1851919
Comments: 9
Kudos: 48





	Suffer for my Sins - Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> please, p l e a s e, leave some feedback! it keeps me writing and posting :)

Dueling scents fill your nostrils. Cedar and bergamot. Vanilla and amber.

Silk sheets caress your bare skin. A comfort. They’re warm. But that’s probably a result of the two furnaces on each side of you. Although the king sized bed is plenty big enough for the three of you to stretch out comfortably, they choose to stay huddled at your side.

That realization makes you wanna laugh.

The two most feared and powerful men of the greater northeast region like to cuddle.

Clark lies to your right side. You can tell it’s him without having to look. He’s built bigger, stockier than Steve who’s to your left with his arm slung over your waist.

Slumber has betrayed you. Your mind too wired, too busy buzzing with thoughts to calm down enough to let you get some well deserved rest — especially after the unspeakable, explicit activities you partook in.

Blurred vision slowly clears as you blink. Your bedroom looks the same, pale moonlight offering a slight crack through the darkness, but it feels different somehow. You can’t quite put your finger on it.

Every time your eyes close for the briefest moment, memories of just hours ago flash behind your lids. To think this whole thing started with a simple conference. One no different than the ones you’ve been attending for the last several months.

Every month, one of the three of you host a meeting at your respective homes. Though there was bad blood and a century old feud that started with your ancestors, there were bigger fish to fry in your professional field. The personal quarrel takes a backseat for a little while.

The turf war between New York and Chicago was the pressing matter of this particular get together. Clark and Steve showed up promptly at eight o’clock. The Manhattan penthouse apartment was otherwise empty as they follow you into the kitchen.

You had taken it upon yourself to renovate the penthouse to your liking after your father’s death, this is the first time they’ve visited the residence since it became yours.

“Red, white, whiskey, tequila — what’s your poison, fellas?” You sip from your own wine glass, the red blend tasting splendid on your buds.

The sound and aroma of meat sizzling in the skillet made the decision easy.

“I’ll have what you’re having.” Steve says.

“Make that two.” Clark seconds.

They share a look when your back is turned to them as you grab a new bottle from the wine rack on the opposite side of the room.

“Where’s—uh—where’s your staff?” Clark questions, taking the offered glass.

The sound you emit is somewhere between a scoff and a snort. “They’re off the clock come 4:30 every afternoon. Where they go once they leave is none of my business. I don’t need to be waited on 24/7. I’m completely capable of taking care of myself.”

Steve bites his lip to conceal a grin, knowing that the workers have their own quarters at the Kent mansion.

“Make yourselves comfortable. Dinner will be ready in five minutes.”

You shrug your blazer off before turning your attention to the stove to prepare the plates. The blouse you wear is sleeveless. Steve notices the edge of a tattoo that peaks out from the fabric on both shoulder blades. He leaves before you can catch him staring, and joins Clark in the foyer.

“Dude, what’s your fuckin’ deal?” Steve chuckles, taking a swig from his glass.

“You don’t get the chills just being here? I feel like Tony’s watching every move we make.”

“Tony’s dead.” Steve reminds, voice hushed. “You’re paranoid.” He brushes off, but the more he thinks on it, his brows furrow. “Is there a reason for that?”

Clark narrows his eyes and his jaw ticks. “Isn’t there always?” He challenges.

Steve opens his mouth, but your voice rings out from the dining room. “Let’s get this show on the road. I have a date with my shower head tonight that I can’t be late for.”

Clark doesn’t miss the tiny smirk that plays on your lips when Steve nearly chokes on his drink.

This is usually how the sessions start. Dinner. Drinks. Sometimes there would be further indulgence - but you prefer to keep drugs out of the house.

The lights in the dinning area are dim, to get the most out of the view of the city from this high up above.

Steve clears his throat and unfolds his napkin to place on his lap. “The place looks real nice. Can’t even tell it used to be the man cave that it was when your father—“

You let him mentally scold himself for the mindless comment. “Thanks. Designed everything myself.”

Both men are visibly uneasy, and you take pleasure in that.

“Something wrong with your steak, Clark? You’ve barely touched your food.” You ask, cutting a few small pieces before taking a bite from your own plate.

Clark looks at Steve, but Steve’s busying himself with cutting up his own food, though it’s easy to tell he hasn’t taken a bite either.

“I don’t know if I should trust it.” Clark finally admits.

Steve keeps his chin down, but he looks between the two of you through his lashes.

Your tongue sweeps over the corner of your mouth before your lips curl into a smile. “Clark, we’ve known each other — the three of us have known each other since we were kids. Now, I don’t expect you to trust me farther than you can throw me. But I’d think you’d know me by now.”

Two sets of blue eyes are on you, one pair cerulean and the other cobalt, as you bring the knife used to slice your steak to your tongue, licking the juice and butter off of each side of it. Clark’s adams apple bobs in his throat.

“Poison is so,” You weave the blade between your fingers with ease. “Impersonal.” You shrug and sip from your wine. “If I wanted to kill you, do you really think this is how I’d do it? First of all, it would be a shame to waste perfect slabs of meat like the ones I’ve prepared for you both. Secondly, I like to get my hands dirty.”

This time it’s Steve who swallows thickly, but not from fear or even intimidation. There’s a gleam in his eye that assure’s you that it’s something else.

“If I’m gonna kill somebody, I’m not gonna just sit back and watch them choke and foam at the mouth. There’s no fun in that. No, if I’m gonna kill somebody, I’m gonna make it hurt. Gonna play with them and make them beg me to kill them out of mercy. I’m more likely to throw this knife at your aorta and let you bleed dry than I am to poison your food.”

You sit back in your seat and take another bite. “Besides, you’re not here to discuss personal vendettas. We have bigger things to worry about outside of our jurisdictions. We all need each other alive.”

Deciding that you’re right, Clark and Steve hesitantly take their first bites.

“Fuck, this is good.” Clark mumbles, stuffing another piece along with a forkful of mashed potatoes in his mouth. 

You wear an expression that says, ‘no shit’ before rolling your eyes. “Now, can we get to business? We just wasted twenty minutes because you’re a fuckin’ baby.”

You lounge horizontally in your seat, legs dangling over the arm of the chair when your elbow propped on the table, trying to massage away the ache building in your temple.

The past hour has been nothing but Steve and Clark going back and forth, informing you of the antics and tactics the Chicago mafia have used in the past.

“Okay, okay enough. I’m tired of hearing about this dick measuring competition.” You hold up your hand to stop Clark from speaking. “That’s all this is. Inferior men with big guns and even bigger egos. They think they can overtake us and take what’s ours? It ain’t gonna fuckin’ happen.”

Steve scoffs and his brows disappear into his hairline. “You got a plan you wanna fill us in on?”

You purse your lips and look down, picking at your manicured nails. “Gimme some time, I’ll think of something.”

Clark sighs and undoes the top button of his finely pressed black shirt. “Mind if I step outside? I could use a smoke.”

“I’ll join you.” You nod, grabbing the lighter from the pocket of your blazer that hangs on the back of your chair. “Steve?” You call over your shoulder.

He wordlessly gets up and follows.

The night air is chilly, but it’s a welcomed feeling against your bare arms. The small of your back rests against concrete, the barrier to keep you from falling over the edge as you take a long drag from the lit cigarette. A small smile creeps along your lips as you look at your company.

“What?” Clark flicks the burnt embers over the side.

“Just deja vu. The last time I lit up with you two was under the bleachers freshman year of high school. My dad found out I was hanging out with both of you and he threw my ass in prep school the next week.”

“You were only a freshman then?” Steve chuckles at the memory. “What were you doing with two seniors?”

“Creating a reputation.” You shrug.

“Ya know,” Clark laughs and scratches his chin. “I can remember my father saying, ‘You can smoke all the pot you want, but if I see you conspiring with a Stark again, you’re cut off.’”

“How do you think he’d feel now?” You gesture between the three of you. “I’m sure he was pissed you had to confer with my dad, but a female boss on top of being a Stark?”

“Probably the same as mine,” Steve interjects. “They were cremated, but they’re rolling over in their metaphorical graves.”

A soft silence falls upon the three of you, only the faint sounds of the city fill your ears. Until Clark begins to speak.

“Can I—“ His mouth shuts and he shakes his head. “Never mind.”

“What?”

He inhales from his cigarette one more time before burning it out. “How’d your brothers react?”

Steve looks at you from the corner of his eye, genuinely curious as well.

“Better than everyone else.” You sigh heavily. “They were relieved. They didn’t want any part in this anyway. They have their own lives, their own careers. They’re not happy that I claimed this position, but this life is all I know. All I care to remember, anyway.” There’s more you want to say. They both can tell. But you bite your tongue.

“Well uh—we should go.” Steve clears his throat. “I’d hate to keep you from your shower head.” He smirks.

You stick out your tongue and flip him off.

“I thought you were with Barnes?” Clark asks, following Steve inside.

“Bucky?” You shake your head. “He’s a good friend is all. What about you and Lane? Still high school sweethearts?”

“No,” He drags the word out. “That’s been over for a while. I’ve been seeing Diana Prince, but it’s casual.”

“Congrats,” Steve huffs. “I heard she’s a slut. Into some pretty freaky stuff.”

“I second that congrats. I know Diana from boarding school and I can confirm she’s a major slut.”

Clark rolls his eyes and looks over at Steve. “What about you? I’ve heard quite a few things about Romanoff—“

He hisses when you kick his shin. Steve chuckles softly and waves you off. “Yeah, you’ll have to ask Clint about that.”

There was so much drama that came along with Natasha dating your brother. You try your best to stay out of it.

Your hip rests against the open door. “Well,” You sigh. “This has been a lovely get together, but it’s getting late. What do you guys say to another meeting next week? We can try to strategize a plan to take down those Windy City fuckers. The faster we get that taken care of, the faster we can all go back to hating each other.” You smile sweetly.

“Who says I don’t still hate you?” Steve snorts, brushing passed you on the way out.

“I hate you both way more.” Clark taunts in toe to Steve.

Your eyes roll and you shake your head. “Children. Both of you. Night, fellas.” The door slams shut, echoing through the hallway as they await the elevator.

That weekend, there’s a major shift.

Darkness. You can barely see anything in your bedroom besides the clock on the nightstand reading 2:54. The moon does nothing but cast your shadow on the far wall as you try to load your gun as quietly as possible.

You’ve seen enough crime and grit throughout your life that hardly anything scares you anymore. You could hold your own, take care of yourself. But that doesn’t mean that an intruder busting down the door to your apartment doesn’t rattle you a little. 

Your heartbeat thuds in your ears. You can’t tell if there’s only one person or more moving throughout your home. The sound of glass shattering spikes your blood pressure even more, but it masks the sound of your bedroom door opening and gives you cover to shoot the invader. He falls to the floor with a thud after two rounds to the back of the head.

It isn’t until you hear a shot fired from a gun other than your own and you feel gooey warmth cascade down your outer thigh that you realize he had a partner. He was a second from pulling the trigger again when you pulled yours first, three rounds all to the chest.

Shards of glass slice the bottom of your feet as you trek across the floor to check the rest of the apartment. Silence. It’s only you now. You grab your phone from the pocket of your robe and hold it to your ear.

“Buck?” You swallow thickly. “I need you.”

“I told you,” Sam scolds, sitting across from you with your leg over his while he digs out shards of glass from your foot. “I told you I didn’t like you living by yourself for exactly this reason. But do you ever listen to me? No. You’re stubborn. Just like dad.”

You glare at Bucky, who wears a slight amused grin. You told him not to call your brother, the doctor. That you could patch yourself up with gauze and peroxide. The wound to your thigh wasn’t deep enough to need stitches, but it’ll hurt like a bitch while it heals and will certainly leave a scar.

Bucky’s been one of your best companions since childhood. He has some pull with the police department - his father being the chief and once in close relations to your father. When you’re in trouble, he recruits the fresher meat, the ones who won’t ask questions and who are easily convinced to keep their mouths shut with a wad of cash, to clean up the scene.

The two bodies are gone. Their blood absorbed into your formally pristine white carpet, which you’ll have to have ripped out come morning.

“You hate that I’m like him.” You mumble, wringing your fingers in your lap to distract you from the pain.

Sam sighs heavily and lays the tweezers down on the table. He gently tilts your chin to look at him. “I hate that you were raised to be like him. I hate that this part of our lives couldn’t die with him. But I love you. Don’t forget that.” He presses a kiss to your forehead as he moves to get up. “Try to get some sleep. I’ll call to check in tomorrow.” He stops by Bucky and murmurs something in his ear before leaving.

“He tell you to stay with me?”

“I was going to whether he asked, and whether you liked it or not.”

“A sleepover?” A grin slowly spreads across your mouth as you stride toward him. “Like old times?” 

There’s a slight rumble in his chest when he exhales heavily. One of his eyebrows is perched higher than the other as he looks at you. “You want it like old times, huh?” He huffs out a light chuckle and shakes his head. “I’m starting to get mixed signals, you know. You wanted to end the arrangement we had, go back to being just friends, and I was okay with that.” His features soften and he cups your jaw in his palm. “Now you’re lookin’ at me with those eyes, and you know I’ve never been able to say no to you.”

“So say yes,” You breathe against his lips, hands moving up the expanse of his chest. “C’mon, I coulda died tonight, Buck. Nothin’ like a little danger to get me going.” He does nothing to stop your fingers from unbuckling his belt and sliding it from the loops. “One more time?”

“That’s what you said last time.” He removes the space between your bodies by pulling your hips to his.

“Yeah well, you know I’m a liar.”

Lips crash when you draw him in by the back of his neck. Bucky picks you up and wraps your legs around his back, making a blind traipse to your bedroom. You’re both naked by the time he lays you on the bed. 

It’s well past 4 in the morning but sleep is a forgotten thought. Your mind is wired, still on high alert. Adrenaline continues to pump through your veins and you know that rest is futile until you drain some of it. Tire yourself out.

Bucky’s good. He’s familiar; he provides a sense of comfort. He’s warm and he knows you inside and out. There could really be something there if you’d only allow it. But Bucky knows better than to wait for you. You’ve pleaded with him not to. He deserves better than what you can give; only half of your heart.

Even in knowing that, it doesn’t stop you from letting him fill you. Fill that constant void inside of you that seems to become sedated only while partaking in this act. In the sin. The place where you lose yourself.

His sweat is salty on your tongue as you bite and lick over his pulse. He pounds into you harder, more aggressively. His idea of “punishment” for leaving a brand on his skin that he’ll get heckled for at work tomorrow.

“You can mark me too, you know.”

He chuckles deeply and shakes his head. “Nah. You’d like that too much.”

It’s true. He’s never been able to bring himself to leave a claim on your flesh, knowing it will fade, it won’t stay, just like you never do.

The thought flees from Bucky’s mind when you pull him back in with your lips on his, your tongue licking into his mouth, begging for forgiveness for a crime you continue to commit. Your hands roam all over his body; squeeze his ass, scratch down his back, grab hold of his hair at the roots and keep him as close as your climax is.

He shushes you when you cry out his name, kissing you deeply spreading you out wider, allowing him to reach the spot that makes your back arch off of the mattress.

As the sky brightens from black to navy, your eyelids grow heavy. Brain finally ready to settle in for a power nap.

A shower will have to wait until a better hour. Bucky cleaned your chest and stomach of his spunk with a damp wash cloth and you stole his t-shirt to sleep in. He lays with you, dressed only in his boxer briefs, his chest serving as your pillow as your legs intertwine.

“You gonna be okay?” Bucky asks softly, his fingertips grazing over your shoulder.

“As far as my definition for ‘okay’ goes, yeah, I’ll be fine.” He can hear the slight smile on your face though he can’t see it. “I was just caught off guard. Vulnerable.” You sigh. “Dad taught me better than that. I guess I just forget some things when he’s not here to remind me.”

“I was trained to take on anything. Not to cower to any man, no matter his size or stature. I know how to kill a person in more ways than someone should know. I’ve never been scared because I always knew I’d be protected. But tonight, I was terrified. And that fucks me up.”

Bucky holds you just a little tighter after your admission. “Ever think that maybe Sam has a point? Maybe it’s not wise to stay here on your own.”

“I’m not staying with either of my brothers and I’m not about to put an ad on Craigslist for a roommate. Word is gonna get out about what happened tonight and I won’t put my reputation at stake, having people think I can’t take care of myself. I have a hard enough time making them take me seriously as it is.” You shake your head. “I’ll make some calls later, have a better security system installed and get some more weapons to hide throughout the place. I’ll be better prepared next time.”

“Next time? You’re already betting on a next time?” He tilts his head to look at you but you keep your head where it is on his shoulder.

“I’m not naive enough to believe there won’t be a next time.” You don’t have enough energy to fight with him, so you lean your chin up to peck his lips softly to end the discussion. “Thank you for coming when I called.”

Bucky sighs but lets his head rest on top of yours. “I’ll always be here for you. You know that.”

Within a minute, your breathing becomes shallow, and you’re sleeping peacefully in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> please, p l e a s e, leave some feeback! it keeps me writing and posting :)


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